“I’m glad to have had the happiness of restoring it to you,” he said. “How extremely warm it is to-day. Do you not think so?”
“Yes; especially now that the train is standing still, but when it is in motion there’s a nice breeze.”
“There are some things I like vastly about America,” he went on, “but the climate does not suit me so well as that of old England; it’s so hot and dry, you know; at least, don’t you think so?”
She gave him a slightly puzzled look. “I—I believe I’ve heard that the weather in England is rather cooler in summer, and that it rains very often; but I never was there.”
“Why, aren’t you a little English girl?”
“English?” she exclaimed, opening her eyes wide in surprise, “no, indeed, I’m American, every inch of me!” with a flash of joy in her dark eyes and a little exultant laugh, as though to be able to call him or herself an American were the proudest boast any one could make.
“I meant it as a compliment, most assuredly,” he said, coloring with a sense of mingled annoyance and mortification. “I’m very proud of being English.”
“And that’s quite right,” she said; “papa says each one should love his own native land above all others.”
“Certainly. But you are of English descent surely.”
“I really don’t know,” laughed Lulu. “I know that my parents, and grandparents, and great-grandparents were all born in America, and I never thought of asking about my ancestors any farther back than that.”